A Friend In The Dark
by Welcome To Nerdfighteria
Summary: Something's happened. Scott doesn't know what it is, but something's happened to Stiles, because since when to people who are 'okay' have panic attacks in the locker room? As the truth unfolds, dark secrets are revealed and Scott realises he may have been a bit of a terrible friend recently. One can only wish he had found out before it went this far...
1. Chapter 1

**'Ello guys. So this idea has been floating around in my head for a while now, I s'pose, and I'm just now getting around to putting it to paper.**

**If you are bothered by writing that includes abuse, panic attacks, some swearing, a rather AU portrayal of a character (who it is will become clear in the second half), or Jackson being slightly decent for once then please leave now and refrain from flaming me.**

**Part one of two.**

* * *

The first thing he heard was the shouting. Really though, that was only to be expected. The Stilinski kid had really screwed up during practice. If that had happened during a game... (Stilinski was a glorified benchwarmer but still, the point remains the same.) Despite the fact that he harboured no positive feelings towards him though, Jackson still believed the coach was being maybe just a bit too hard on him.

That thought only lasted for about half a second before Jackson shrugged and decided to enjoy the show. It wasn't as if he really gave a damn if the kid's feelings were hurt.

Jackson skipped his t-shirt over his head and rounded the bank of lockers, malicious grin already in place. What he saw, however, stopped him right in his tracks.

Stilinski, already in his street clothes, had his back pressed flush agains the wall, cowering away from the livid man shouting insults at him. Every word that left the coach's mouth at that almost inhuman volume sent a violent flinch through him.

To be quite honest, Jackson was surprised McCall hadn't already stepped in and redirected the anger. From what he'd seen, that idiot didn't like it when people messed with, much less terrorised, the younger, smaller, hyperactive boy.

The longer the tirade lasted the deeper Jackson's frown got, and the harder Stilinski shook. By now it looked like he was about two seconds from passing out, or having a heart attack or something. McCall _definitely_ should have said something by now.

Looking around, Jackson remembered that McCall wasn't actually there.

Remedial science class. Right.

It didn't look like anyone else was going to stand up for him and risk Finstock's wrath either, though there wasn't a single person in the room who didn't look uncomfortable with what was going on. Isaac Lahey, standing about ten feet off with this wide eyed deer-in-the-headlights impression going on, looked like he was about to throw up.

Now, let it be said that yes, Jackson Whitmore is probably the biggest tool you will ever met.

However this didn't mean that while he did sometimes cross this line, he didn't know how far was too far. And when Finstock actually reached out and jabbed Stilinski hard in the chest with two fingers, causing his knees to physically buckle, sending the boy to the floor in a crumpled, shaking heap, Jackson was well aware that whatever the Hell was going on, it had gone too far.

In a display so unlike him that people would later wonder if it actually _had_ been him, Jackson seized a fistful of the front of the furious man's shirt, physically yanking him away from the terrified kid.

"Jesus!" he shouted, shoving the coach roughly, putting a good five feet between him and Stilinski. "Back the Hell off!"

For a moment it looked as if Finstock was going to argue, but from the way his eyes flicked from Stilinski's whimpering form to Jackson's expression, mouth snapping shut, he had apparently thought better of it.

Good.

He may not have liked or cared about Stilinski all that much (at all, really) but he could remember the last time he'd seen someone fly into a panic attack and wouldn't wish it on anyone. (And he didn't really feel like dealing with all the trouble socking the jerk one would cause.)

Speaking of...

Turning back to the boy he had just rescued, Jackson peered down at Stilinski with his glare still in place.

"Well, you gonna get up?"

The only reply he got was another finch from the boy, throwing his hands up in front of his face. Okay. That was weird. In fact, this whole situation had skated right past weird and hit downright unsettling. Sure, their coach could be one scary son of a bitch, but getting reamed out by him didn't usually end with the recipient huddled on the floor. He had certainly never seen anyone react like _this_ before.

Jackson knelt in front of Stilinski and reached out to poke his knee. Big mistake, apparently.

"Please, don't!"

Whatever that freak thought was going on, his clouded, glassy eyes weren't here in the present. Whatever he thought he was seeing, it wasn't what was actually happening.

Hearing a noise form behind him, Jackson whirled around to glower accusingly at the crowd of people just standing around and staring at them.

"Why are you all still standing here?" he demanded. The lacrosse players shifted awkwardly, and quickly began to filter out. Danny stayed back, crossing his arms and looking worriedly down at Stilinski, still mid panic attack. Quivering and hyperventilating and everything.

"What should we do?" Danny asked in a cautious tone. Jackson looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Danny."

"Yes?"

"Run and get McCall."

Danny froze where he was for a second.

"Oh. Right. Where is he?"

"Remedial science, now go before more of this idiot stops breathing and more of his brain cells die than he can afford. Don't look at me like that, I'll make sure he's still alive when you get back. Just... Hurry up."

Nodding, Danny bolted out the door as fast as he could.

* * *

There were very few things Scott hated more than science class, especially when forced to miss practice in order to attend said science class. Unfortunately though, this was a requirement if he planned on remaining on the team.

From the moment he had walked into the room, though, he had known something was wrong. Something was going to happen, and it was going to be bad. He knew it in the heart of whatever new senses he possessed. Scott was worried.

He couldn't concentrate, words ran together on the page in front of him, and he was scared.

At first his thoughts jumped straight to Allison. What if something had happened to her while he was stuck here in this stupid class? She could be hurt, or dead, or God only knew what else, and he had to do _science_. But as soon as Danny Malhealani threw the door open, breathing hard and face flushed, thoughts of Allison (for the first time probably since he'd met her) flew from his mind. Something about Danny's expression caused the earlier anxiety to rise up stronger than ever, closing his throat and causing him to clench his hands. The Hawaiian's one word statement only served to confirm that yes, he had cause to be worried.

"Stiles."

In about three point five seconds flat, Scott was off his chair and out the door, running towards the locker room.

What he found there was about eight shades of confusing. The first thing he noticed was Jackson, standing by someone who was huddled on the floor, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. When he noticed Scott standing there as well as the crowd of players still standing around outside the locker room door, he shoved off the wall and gestured at the person on the floor.

"You deal with him, I'll deal with them."

What Danny had said in the classroom clicked with the boy crumpled against the wall and Scott's heart froze cold in his chest. He could hear the blood whooshing in head ears, a sound like the tide that blurred out everything else.

"What happened?" he asked Danny, almost unable to hear his own words. Danny's reply was muffled as well, but he got the message across.

"Coach was really yelling at him, called him a bunch of names, and then something happened and Stiles lost it. Jackson got him away but by then... Well, you can see. We didn't know what to do, but you're his best friend and if anyone can help him, you can."

Moving slowly, as if through water, Scott walked closer and knelt on the floor beside his terrified friend. Stiles didn't look at him, merely kept his head down, shaking hands raised like he was trying to defend himself from some invisible attacker. This was the closest Scott had looked at him in weeks, and from this proximity he could see faint bruises around the boy's pale wrist, and the one shading the side of his jaw.

"What happened..." Scott repeated in a low voice, barely a whisper. Then he raised his voice slightly, keeping his tone carefully gentle.

"Stiles, it's okay. It's me. It's Scott."

At these words Stiles' hands lowered slightly and he peered up to see if it really was him. Upon finding Scott's eyes with his he seemed to deflate, slumping back completely and trembling harder than ever. His breathing was far too fast and with his heightened senses it was clear that his heart rate had rocketed past normal as well.

Reaching out incredibly slowly so as to not frighten him any more than he already was, Scott laid a hand on Stiles' back, now able to actually feel his shaking.

"Shh. Calm down. It's just me. It's alright, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. C'mon Stiles, it's just me. It's just Scott. Whatever happened, you don't have to tell me now. Just... Just breathe, alright? It's okay. You're safe. You're safe."

Stiles had stilled somewhat under his friend's hand, shifting closer to Scott, but his breathing and heartbeat were still far too high. The coaching wasn't working. So Scott decided to try something else. Still moving slowly (the last thing he wanted was to send him back into hysterics), he grabbed Stiles' hand with his own, the one not currently resting on his back.

Scott then laid the panicking boy's palm over his own heart, exaggerating his slow, steady breathing.

"Follow my breathing, alright? Come on, you're going to pass out. Copy my breathing, copy what you feel under your hand. Okay? Just do that. That's all I'm asking."

It took several minutes, but eventually Stiles was calmed down to the point where Scott was no longer concerned that he was going to end up unconscious. At some point he had slumped forward, forehead coming to rest against Scott's collarbone, hand now clutching his shirt, white knuckled. There was silence in the locker room, and when the back of Stiles' shirt slipped down a bit Scott saw another bruise.

What had _happened?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Evening, readers! So here's the next chapter. It would appear this is gonna be a leeetle longer than a two shot. You guys don't mind another couple chapters do you? I hope not. **

**This is set before the whole kanima thing happened, and thus pretty early in the series. Also, bear in mind that who the character who was hurting Stiles ends up being, this is not how I actually see them. It's an AU what if that kind of focuses on my irritation with Scott for being a bit of a neglectful friend. Because let's face it, Stiles probably deserves a little better from him by now.**

**Review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

Scott McCall was worried.

No, beyond that. He was scared.

Something had happened to Stiles and whatever it was, it was bad. Bad enough to leave his friend a crumpled heap on the floor, trembling in his arms. Scott had never seen him this afraid before, not even when he himself was about four seconds from tearing Stiles' throat out. How had he missed it? Damage like this didn't just happen overnight. Something or someone had been hurting him for a while now.

Letting out a low whine from the back of his throat, Scott held on tighter. Some part of the Wolf recognised Stiles as Pack. And nobody hurt his Pack.

Except someone had, very badly, and therein lies the cause of Scott's fear.

"Do you want me to help you get him to his car?" Danny's question reminded Scott that they weren't alone in the locker room and he flushed. But turning to look at him, he realised that of all the people who could have just witnessed that, Danny was probably the safest option. His expression was concerned and understanding, kind in a way that was a relief. Danny made no judgements, jumped to no conclusions. He was merely offering to help get Scott and his traumatised best friend somewhere safe.

"Yeah. Sure. Thanks." Those generic, one word sentences were about all he could manage at the moment. He glanced behind Danny and saw Jackson, still in the doorway, making sure no one got near. Danny noticed this.

"It was his idea to get you, you know. Stiles started losing it and Jackson took care of the situation. He got Finstock away from him and told me to run and get you."

Scott frowned at that, not quite believing it.

"That doesn't sound like him."

Danny walked over and sighed.

"I used to have really bad anxiety. Got panic attacks all the time. And the teachers didn't know what to do with me, so whenever it happened, someone just called Jackson. I guess he remembered what it was like for me and figured it was time to act like a human being. He really isn't all as bad as he seems. We've all got our stories, Scott. Even Jackson. He's a good guy."

A contemplative, slightly uncomfortable silence fell over the locker room as Scott worked on processing what Danny had just told him. Maybe they would never be on good terms with each other exactly, but from here on out he would look at Jackson Whitmore with a shred more respect than before. For all the things to be said about him, he was a good friend. And he had protected Stiles when Scott hadn't been there, a fact for which he was infinitely grateful.

"Come on," he said eventually, looking down at his still consciously catatonic best friend. "Let's get him out of here."

They passed Jackson on the way out, and as they did, Scott paused for a second, meeting his eyes and nodding. Jackson nodded back, some unspoken understanding passing between them.

"I'm gonna help Scott get Stiles to his car, alright? Wait for me, I need a ride home."

Jackson waved a hand at him and went back in to grab his lacrosse things.

It took a bit, but eventually Danny and Scott got Stiles out into the parking lot and to his Jeep. It took a bit of coaxing, but they managed to get the keys from him, handed with uncooperative, shaking fingers from one boy to the other.

"Thanks for your help, man," Scott told Danny as he left.

"Yeah. No problem. I don't expect some kind of explanation, just so you know. I mean, if he wants to tell me it's his choice, but as far as I'm concerned it's his secret to tell. Just... Make sure he's okay."

Scott nodded solemnly before looking at Stiles, sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep, legs drawn up to his chest, chin resting on his knees, and taking a deep breath. First things first. He was going to need some help, at least when it came to whatever injures Stiles was hiding.

"Hi mom," he said, unable to disguise the fragile note in his voice when his mother answered her cellphone. "Um, is there any way you can... can come home."

"Scott, honey, what happened." Melissa McCall could tell even just from his tone that something serious had happened.

"It's, uh, it's Stiles. Something really bad happened to him, mom, he's really hurt."

"Alright, I'm on my way out now. Don't worry, I'll be home soon as I can. Have you called his dad yet?"

"No!" Scott almost shouted, loud enough for Stiles to hear it in the car and jump, head smacking into the window.

"Whoa, whoa, why not?"

"I'm not calling anyone. No one but you. Not until I know... I'm not gonna let him go back to... Not until I know. Please, just trust me."

"Okay. Alright. I trust you. Just get him to our house and I'll take a look at him as soon as I'm home."

Scott nodded, only moments later realising that nods don't exactly translate well over the phone.

"Right. Got it."

"Hey. It's all gonna be okay. We're going to figure it out. Stiles will be okay. Whatever happened to him, you and I will work it out. Just keep your head, okay? It's all gonna turn out fine."

He nodded again, then shook himself.

"M hm. Thanks." Scott closed the phone and stood there, fingers around the door handle, not getting into the car. His head listed forward to rest on the cool metal of the Jeep's frame. He was allowed these few moments. Something had broke Stiles, his world had become confusing and frightening enough already, and he didn't know what to do.

So Scott McCall was allowed to have a couple of seconds to quietly fall apart, before taking a deep breath and getting into the driver's seat. He turned the keys in the ignition with a hand that was definitely not shaking, say what you will. For the first time since Scott had first walked into the locker room and seen Stiles on the floor, his friend actually spoke. Just one word, hoarse and nearly silent.

"Sorry."

And that, more than anything, was the worst part.

"Don't apologise." Scott's voice had the same waver in it how that it had possessed on the phone with his mum. "Whatever happened to you, Stiles, I know it wasn't your fault. I saw those bruises. No one deserves that."

Stiles gave no indication that he had even heard him.

"If anyone should apologise it should be me."

"Wasn't your fault," Stiles rebuked quietly, eyes still trained downwards.

"I should have noticed that something was wrong."

Now that he thought about it, though, Scott _had_ noticed that something was wrong. Stiles talked. (Actually, Stiles talked a _lot_.) But lately he had gone quiet. He kept his head bowed and did his school work, trying his best to help Scott deal with the werewolf thing, but having much less sarcastic commentary to offer. The longer he looked for clues the more he found. Perhaps the most glaring was the quiet.

Stiles talked all the time. About school and the sky and the cool things he heard on the police radio. Lydia, Jackson, Danny, that boy on their team Isaac, unfair teachers, cool teachers, boring teachers, and most recently, Derek. He talked about books and movies and TV shows he liked to watch. Stiles even talked in his sleep. Recently though... Recently he had stopped.

Without another word Scott reached across the seat and laid a gentle, calming hand on Stiles' shoulder. They both pretended the flinch hadn't happened.

Upon reaching the McCall household, Scott noticed that his mother was already there. By now Stiles had recovered substantially, though he was still disturbingly quiet. Melissa was waiting for them nervously in the living room. The call from her son had shaken her. She hadn't heard him sound that scared in a very long time, and what he had said worried her. In many ways she loved Stiles like he was her second son. They were her boys, and one of them was hurt. Historically when one of them was hurt the other didn't fare too well either.

So when the door opened and she saw Stiles standing there, pale and thin with an expression that was two parts embarrassed and ninety eight parts fearful, the first thing she did was sweep him into an embrace, holding him close as only a mother can. Melissa then moved on to Scott, hugging him as well, feeling him return the gesture with even greater desperation than she felt.

Finally Melissa had both of them sitting on the couch in front of her, her arms folded and dread rising in her heart.

"Alright. Now will someone please tell me what's going on?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello my loves, and I apologise as this took me slightly longer than I thought it would. Ran into a bit of writers block, but that's all fixed now. **

**I'm sure by this point all or most of you have guessed who it is (I'm not very good at suspense, sorry), and try to keep in mind that this is sort of an AU, dark!character type thing. Please don't mistake this as my actual view of that character.**

**Also, a note. This is not a romance story (though Allison could make an appearance briefly), and it's safe to assume there will only be canon ships. Feel free to interpret this as slash if you like, but it wasn't my intention.**

**With that said, enjoy this chapter and please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

Melissa waited expectantly for the answer. Neither Scott nor Stiles were apparently going to offer one, though. Scott because he didn't actually _have_ stated answer, Stiles because he wouldn't (or couldn't, yet) tell.

"Never mind," Melissa said, tone softening as she took in the light purple that shaded Stiles's jaw. "It can wait. Right now why don't you let me take a look at you, okay?"

She was using her Victim Voice, Scott realised. As a nurse, she had seen people before who had encountered unimaginable violence, and the voice she used to talk to them was the one she was using now, on his best friend. The idea that someone had badly hurt Stiles hadn't quite sunk in yet, and neither had the face that _Stiles hadn't told him. _Someone had beat the ever living crap out of Scott's best friend, the boy who was more like a brother to him, and he hadn't known about it. The idea that it took something like this happening for him to find out was a shocking wake up call.

Lately, he had to admit that his friends (well, friend, he'd only really got one) had sort of fallen to the side. In light of recent events (the whole bite thing and what followed, Allison, the Hunters...) it

was understandable that he had maybe not been paying as close of attention to Stiles that he normally would have.

But to think that he had missed _this_, not noticed him coming apart at the seams, bearing what looked like dozens of bruises of various ages all over his pale torso... That was terrifying. What if he hadn't found out?

What if the incident in the locker room hadn't happened, and Danny never burst into his science class? What if...

Scott swallowed hard, fighting against the prickling behind his eyes.

What if he hadn't found out until it was too late.

What if he had never found out until Stiles died.

Suddenly feeling like the world was spinning too fast on it's axis, and Scott had to sit down again, back on the couch to the right of where Stiles currently perched, his left shoulder being looked over by Melissa. In an impulsive move, Scott reached out and grabbed his friend's hand in his own. All of a sudden he was reminded of a small boy who talked eighty miles an hour, sitting on the side of his best friend's hospital bed after a particularly bad asthma attack, holding his hand and chattering on about whatever came to his mind.

Stiles looked at him, and for the first time Scott saw it. The endless depths of pain behind those kind hazel eyes, and the silent cry of '_please, someone save me_' that was never voiced.

Now it was his turn, he thought as he squeezed the hand that suddenly seemed so fragile. This time he would step up and be the kind of friend Stiles deserved.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. Stiles glanced over at Melissa, who was walking off to rummage through the bathroom for their extremely well stocked first aid kit.

"I'm fine."

Scott raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, I'm clearly not fine. My shoulder hurts, and the entire team got to see my little 'episode' just there. When I go to school on Monday everyone is going to stare and whisper and I really don't need that right now. So no. I'm not okay."

Neither of them spoke again. They didn't have to. Their eyes did the talking.

_You know that's not what I meant._

_I'm sorry, I can't._

_Please tell me._

_I can't._

_Please._

_Not yet._

It was then that Melissa re-entered the living room, holding a sling in her hand.

"Here, honey." She helped him get his arm, which had been recently dislocated and coincidentally was the reason behind his terrible performance during practice. "That should take care of it. Now why don't you two go up to Scott's room, I'll make dinner."

"You're not going back to work?" Stiles asked, confused. She sent him an empathetic look, lightly shaking her head.

"No. Not tonight."

Several hours later, after dinner was over and the sun had gone down, Scott and Stiles were lying side by side on Scott's duvet. The room hung seemingly suspended in time, silent and heavy. So many minutes crawled slowly by that by the time Stiles' still unusually soft voice permeated the still air his friend had thought he'd dozed off.

"He doesn't mean to hurt me."

It sounded unsure, even to Stiles himself.

Scott made no response, couldn't force himself to turn his head and look at the boy who was like a younger brother to him. Instead, always one to be better with touch than words, he once more reached for his hand, holding it tightly, trying to convey through that simple gesture what he couldn't find the words to say.

"Scott."

It wasn't a prompt for a reply, or a request for his attention. It was an affirmation. It was Stiles, hand clutching back impossibly hard, reminding himself that here was his best friend, his brother, who _did_ care, and whowould _never_ hurt him.

"Scott."

This time the name was choked out in a thick voice that splintered and broke into a half sigh, half sob at the end of the monosyllabic word.

"He doesn't mean it. Right? He... He doesn't... Scott..."

No more words passed between them that night, just the silent suffering of two boys whose childhoods were over, due to a mistimed venture into the forest to investigate a dead body, and an as-of-yet nameless, faceless monster.

Eventually when Stiles really _had_ fallen asleep, Scott stumbled back down to the living room and right into his mother's waiting embrace. It was a few seconds before his apprehensive words, spoken in a voice that was two inches tall, went a long way to confirming the fear hanging like a dark cloud over Melissa's heart. She wouldn't truly believe it until she heard it from Stiles himself, but what Scott had to say left almost no doubt as to who, regrettably, had hurt one of her boys.

"Mom, I don't think it's safe for him to go home."


	4. Chapter 4

**'Allo there, lovelies. I once again apologise for updating taking longer than I thought it was. But yeah, you know studies, right? They really take it out of you sometimes.**

**Okay, so I'm going to reiterate this again, just in case it wasn't clear the first few times.**

***takes a deep breath and says loudly and clearly* This is an AU version of what _could_ have happened. Features a much darker version of the Sheriff. I do actually like his character and don't believe he would ever do anything like this. So please, bear that in mind when you read this chapter.**

**Leave a review to tell me what you think, and DFTBA!**

* * *

Melissa breathed deeply for a moment, just trying to comprehend what was happening. Scott's mumbled, thick voiced words had struck a chord in her heart, in the part of her that was a nurse as well as a mother. A child was hurt, and more than that, one of _her_ children was hurt. She didn't want to believe that the man she knew could have done this to his own son, but the evidence was all there. For all his bright, cheerful chattering to anyone who would listen, Stiles didn't have many friends, and certainly not many adults in his life. Mostly, it was just her and the Sheriff. And as she knew _she_ hadn't done it, that only really left one option.

"Okay, honey," she told Scott, holding him minutely tighter. "We'll keep him here while we figure it out then, alright? I promise you, I won't let him go back to a place where someone might hurt him. Don't worry about it. You and me, we'll take care of him."

Scott nodded, sighing and, adolescent male pride gone in the face of what was happening, let his mother continue hugging him for a few beats longer. The continuing night found Scott pacing the living room, Melissa sitting, tired and worried, on the couch. Upstairs, Stiles continued to sleep, the marks they had seen the looming elephant in the room.

"How does something like this happen?" Scott demanded out of the blue, not breaking his stride.

Melissa shook her head. She didn't know any more than he did. Sure, Stiles could be a bit much to deal with sometimes, and she wished he would use the front door more often, but the idea of raising a hand against him... It made her sick to her stomach to even imagine striking either of the boys currently in her home.

"I don't know, honey. I just really don't know."

Scott abruptly stopped his pacing, whirling to face her.

"He still keeps one of my inhalers in his bag all the time," he murmured, tone quiet and disbelieving. The hardest part about this whole situation was, to Scott at least, the fact that it had happened at all. Stiles was the sweetest person he knew. To think that someone, much less his own parent, could hurt a person like that...

So many things in Scott's life made no sense right now. He had to talk to someone. Well, he had to talk to Stiles, get him to say out loud what had happened and who it had been (though Scott already knew), but more than that, he needed someone he could talk to about this. Not Allison, for some reason he was reluctant to burden her with this. She liked Stiles. They were friends. He needed someone objective, someone whose emotions wouldn't get in the way of telling him the right thing to do... He needed to talk to Derek.

"I'm gonna go up and sit with him," Scott told his mother, the lie catching in his throat. "I don't want him to be alone if he wakes up."

"Alright. Go on. I would say try and get some sleep, but..." Melissa sighed and got up. She kissed her son's forehead and headed towards her own room, likely to spend the rest of the night wondering where to go from here.

Listening with his enhanced hearing through the walls to her breathing, as soon as Melissa's breaths evened out, Scott got up from where he sat on the edge of the bed where Stiles slept. He pulled his jacket on and looked down at his friend.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I didn't see." With that said, he swung out the window and started to run for the old house where Derek could surely be found.

Just as he had suspected, Derek was at the house when he arrived, and came downstairs with a suspicious expression on his face.

"You've made it very clear you want nothing to do with me, Scott. Why are you here?"

"I needed your advice," Scott replied, folding his arms and resigning himself to asking for help for Derek's help. "Something's... Something's happened, and I don't know what to do."

"Well, what's going on?" The suspicious look hadn't left, but Derek had come closer, interested.

"I... Someone hurt a friend of mine."

"Stiles."

Scott started. "What? No, I never said that, why would you assume that? I didn't say who it was."

"Calm down. There's a bit of blood on your sleeve. It's his, I can smell it."

Glancing down at the sleeve of his hoodie, Scott saw that Derek was telling the truth. Flecks of russet colour stained the fabric, and he felt sick.

"Besides, who else could it be? You don't seem to have many friends. Relax. Whatever happened, I'm not going to tell anybody. Think about it. Even if that was something I would do, who do I have to tell?"

He made a fair point.

"So, someone's hurt Stiles. Do you need help finding out who?"

"No, that's not it, I already figured that part out. I mean, I think I did, he hasn't admitted anything, but he said some weird stuff earlier and there aren't many options, but..."

"Slow down," Derek ordered, and Scott stopped talking. "It's his dad, isn't it?" Wordlessly, Scott nodded.

"Damn it. He's a police officer, so there isn't much we can do about it without drawing attention to ourselves."

"So you'll help me?"

Derek sighed and nodded.

"Of course I will. I'm not as bad as you think I am. He's your friend, and he's stuck around despite all of this. That means he's a good person. And Stiles may be the most annoying person I have ever met in my life, but nobody deserves this. So yes, I'll help you make sure it doesn't happen again. But first... First I'm going to need to talk to him."

Scott swallowed hard. _That_ conversation was not one he was looking forward to. Bad things tended to happen in general when you put Stiles and Derek in the same room, and with what had happened and what Derek had deduced, Stiles might get upset if he thought Scott had just gone and told him everything. But he was willing to make Stiles a little mad if it meant that he would be safe. In the end, that was really all that mattered.

"Great. My mom has work tomorrow, and I'll convince her to go. She should be gone pretty soon, so just... Show up whenever. And Derek?"

The man stopped at the bottom of the staircase and turned around. "What?"

"When you talk to him, try to be a little less... you, alright? He had a really rough day today and he doesn't need anything more to deal with."

"I would tell you to relax but that's clearly not going to happen. Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to be nice to people."

Scott sighed and was about to leave when something Derek called after him stopped him in his tracks.

"Stop beating yourself up over it, Scott. It wasn't your fault, and from what I know of Stiles, he doesn't blame you. So you shouldn't either."

Without answering, Scott left the house.


	5. Chapter 5

**So I would try and make excuses for how late this is but they would all be kinda pathetic and mean basically nothing. Lets just say that I've been having an... interesting month, regarding finding out some stuff about myself and I've been... otherwise occupied. Also, this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. So, hope you all had a lovely easter yesterday, and that you didn't get pranked too bad today. **

**Also, as a note, I have absolutely no idea what Scott's mum's hours are at the hospital. So, yeah, that part is probably completely fabricated. *shrug* What can you do.**

**Another note. I know that Stiles seems pretty well adjusted and calm about this at the end bit of this chapter, but... You know, everyone reacts to trauma differently. He's a smart guy. He'd know he had to keep his head.**

**Thanks for all your lovely reviews. Tell me what you think of this chapter, try and predict what'll happen next!**

**DFTBA**

* * *

Scott quietly came back in through the rear door at around four in the morning. Luckily he managed to avoid waking his mother, and when he got back to his room, Stiles remained asleep. He was curled up with a slight frown on his otherwise peaceful face. His arms were wrapped around his middle, hands tucked into his sleeves. It looked for all the world like he as trying to protect himself from some invisible monster.

A monster that, by all reasoning, Scott should have already seen.

He sighed shakily, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his desk chair. This level of what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do surpassed even the Wolf and the fun side effects that came with that.

See, the thing to understand here is that Scott was by no means a bad friend. Sometimes he would get sidetracked, or busy, what with everything that had been happening to him lately. But that didn't mean he cared any less about Stiles, who had been in his life longer than anyone but his mum, and could never be replaced. Honestly, if he lost Stiles, he wouldn't know what to do. And that was what scared him so badly. He almost _had_ lost him. Scott may not be a bad friend, but right now? He sure felt like one.

Stiles mumbled something and shook his head in his sleep. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Scott touched his arm, murmuring a few quiet words meant to calm him. He stilled, but the light frown deepened, spreading lines across his forehead. Keeping his hand where it was, Scott considered where they had been before the Wolf, and before Stiles's secret.

God, he was too young for this.

They were both far too young for this.

With a jolt, Stiles awoke, springing instantly into a sitting position that would have been comical, had it not been clear the kind of dream he had just come out of. His breathing was fast and his eyes wide, frightened. Scott was out of the chair and crouching on the bed in front of him in an instant, grasping Stiles by the shoulders.

"Hey. Hey, come on. It's just me. You're alright. You're safe," he said, and Stiles took a deep breath, white knuckled fingers knotted in the blanket Scott had placed over him when he fell asleep.

"Sorry. Um, I... Sorry."

"See, no, you don't get to apologise. Not right now, okay? No more 'sorry's."

Stiles nodded, a slight smile pulling at his lips. "Okay."

From his mother's room, Scott heard movement. He checked the clock, and saw that it was now five in the morning. Melissa went to work at six, and would just be getting ready now. Sure enough, a couple minutes later, she poked her head into the room, expression worried as it had been the night before.

"I could stay home today," she said, but her tone indicated that she really couldn't afford to. A recent illness had meant she'd already missed several days that month, and making ends meet was hard enough without putting her job in danger. Stiles and Scott both shook their heads.

"No, don't worry about it," Stiles reassured her, flashing Melissa a smile. "I'm okay.

Scott's mother stood hovering in the doorway for a few more moments, seeming to debate what to do. Finally, she sighed.

"As long as you're sure you two will be okay until I get home. I promise we'll figure this out. Promise," she repeated, then turned and left the room.

"Your mom worries too much," Stiles told his friend, slowly and stiffly disentangling his fingers from the blanket. He looked up, noticed Scott's expression, and rolled his eyes. "See? You're doing it too! I. Am. Fine. It's nothing. What you saw was nothing. What happened yesterday is nothing."

"That wasn't nothing, Stiles! You're covered in bruises! You had a panic attack in the locker room!" Scott insisted, voice going up an octave or two the more agitated he got. He scooted closer still to him, wanting to make Stiles _hear_ him. "You're my best friend. I don't know if I can survive this without you, alright? I'm so sorry it took me so long to figure out someone was hurting you but... I can't let this keep happening! I can't!" Scott had never really been great with words, always one more inclined to be tactile than vocal, but he hoped to God that what he'd said would get through to Stiles.

"I..." the other boy said, and there it was again. That small, frightened voice that struck pangs in Scott's heart. "I don't want to go home."

"It's okay. You don't have to. Derek's coming over in a bit, and he's gonna help us figure out what to do. Whatever happens, though, I promise I won't let him near you again."

And when Stiles finally looked up at him, there was something akin to hope in his eyes.

A few minutes later, Derek knocked on the door (abiding by normal societal rules of human to human interaction for once since Scott had known him), and the whole thing began in earnest. The first thing that happened was Scott trying to backpedal and awkwardly churn out the explanation of how Derek had come to know about his situation. That he had guessed. That Scott hadn't actually told him anything aside from the fact that he needed help. Stiles had actually been pretty good about that part. He knew that he would never voluntarily tell anybody anything like that unless given permission. Then Derek had turned the conversation over to him.

"Stiles, I need you to tell me what happened. When it started. Why it started. How often. I need to know everything that you can tell me so that I can help you get out of there. Also, if you know anybody who might be in any way knowledgable about the legal system, give them a call. We're going to need all the help we can get. Your father's the Sheriff, therefore accusing him of something like this is a pretty damn big deal. Are you ready to do this?"

Stiles thought about it for a second. "I think I know just who to call."


	6. Chapter 6

**It should be noted that I have exactly a teaspoon and a half of legal knowledge. Also, I know nothing about Lydia's family, Scott's extended family, and who may or may not be a lawyer. So just, you know, bear with me, and keep in mind that a lot of the legal proceedings are going to be almost completely fabricated. Also, I'm going to try and update more often. Sorry for the recent delays.**

**Also, forgive me if I portray Lydia and Jackson as being less... I dunno, less rude in this story. I happen to be incredibly fond of both of them, so I'm trying to put on a positive light.**

* * *

"Great," Derek said, sitting back and contemplating the situation. "Before you call whoever it is, though, I need you to tell me _everything._ When it started. How often. Anything you can tell me."

Honestly, Stiles was thankful for the way Derek was treating the situation. He didn't want the man's pity. He really did get why Scott had gone to him, and he wasn't angry over it, but if there had been another way to go, he'd rather not have Derek involved at all. That being said, he _was_ the perfect person for this.

He cared enough to help, but not enough to be afraid of breaking him.

The only person Stiles thought he could take that from and know it wasn't the least bit condescending was Scott. From _him_, Stiles knew it came out of a place of worry and of guilt. So he would gratefully accept Scott's care and concern, as well as Derek's blunt but ultimately helpful questions.

"It started, uh, the night Scott got bit," Stiles admitted slowly, not meeting Derek's eyes but rather looking at the wall next to his head.

"What?" Scott interjected. "No, that can't be right. I remember that night! I remember every second of it, I would have noticed if... If he'd... I would have noticed!"

Derek shot him a warning look and Scott quickly fell silent, glancing apologetically next to him at Stiles.

"It's fine, you couldn't have known. It was after... Um, after dad caught me and you ran and then we were back at my car and he... He just... No one was around and he started yelling at me for wasting his time and getting in the way and putting myself in danger and then he just... Uh, he just slapped me. Out of nowhere. I never saw it coming, and after he apologised about a billion times and we went home and I... forgot about it. Didn't even leave a mark."

Scott heard the unspoken 'that time' tacked on to the end of that sentence, and it added to the nauseous feeling that hadn't left him since the locker room the day before. He bumped his knee against Stiles's, their shoulders already touching, a reminder that he was there, and that he wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again. Stiles gave him a smile in return, but it was weak and halfhearted.

"And it escalated from there?" Derek prompted, wanting to get this conversation over with as soon as possible. He disliked personal conversations as a general rule, especially when it came to people he didn't really know all that well, but in this case it was necessary.

"Right. Uh, yeah, it did. At first it was just... Uh, just little things. I'd just get a slap here and there, when I'd been, um, especially difficult. But then it got bigger and he stopped... He stopped apologising. He drinks _all the time_ and he just gets so _angry._" Stiles shrugged, jostling Scott slightly. "I guess I kind of deserved it. I mean, I-"

"No," Scott interrupted, voice steady and slightly sad. Stiles turned eyes that were stinging with tears he refused to shed towards his best friend. "Whatever you thought you did to... To _deserve_ what he did to you, it was nothing. He is the one at fault here. He is the one to blame. No one ever deserves to be hit."

"Scott's right," Derek said, expression not betraying whatever he was feeling.

Feeling the weight of their gaze on him, Stiles dipped his head and sniffed silently, willing the moisture in his eyes to stay where it was.

"So," Derek redirected. "About this person you think could help with the legal side of getting you out of there?"

Stiles shot him a confused look. "Out of there?"

"You're not staying in that house," Scott said firmly. "You can't."

"Where am I gonna go, then?"

"Here. You can stay here. My mom won't have a problem with it, in fact, she'll probably be the first person to sign the papers."

Derek nodded. "See? So, who are you going to call?"

"Someone who knows how to keep her mouth shut about things."

* * *

The phone call came out of the blue, and it was quite honestly the last thing Lydia had been expecting. She had heard from one of Jackson's team mates about what had happened with Stiles in the locker room (she was actually rather surprised that the gossip hadn't come from Jackson himself, but he was weird like that sometimes) but to have Stiles _call_ her about the matter was a shock.

"_Hey, Lydia."_

"Stiles! I heard about what happened yesterday. Are you alright?"

"_I'm... Uh... So I've got a question. Do you know anything about the legal system?"_

"My aunt, both my uncles, and two of my cousins are lawyers. Yeah, I'd say I know quite a bit. Why?" she tacked on as an afterthought. Stiles' evasion of her question hadn't escaped her notice.

"_I...We need your help. Look, can you just... Can you just come over here, please?"_

The tone of his voice was worrying, the urgency circumventing any snark that might have usually been the reply to that. "Sure. Just give me the address and I'll be there as soon as I can. And Stiles, are you... are you alright?"

There was a click as the phone disconnected.


	7. Chapter 7

**Again, as a disclaimer, I know frak-all about the legal system and how this kind of thing works. I've done a bunch of googling about the subject, but then again, we shouldn't believe everything we read on the internet. So bear in mind that I am not a lawyer, nor am I a social worker, so I'll mostly be glossing over that side of things. **

**So this whole thing exploded into something way longer/bigger than I had planned for. But okay. I'm cool with that. You guys don't seem to mind more chapters so hey, win win, right?**

**DFTBA!**

* * *

As Lydia drove towards the address given to her, apprehension rose in her heart. She didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, it felt _big._ Bigger certainly than anything she had done so far, and much more important. Stiles had sounded... _off_ on the phone, like something serious was happening. Not that this was much of a surprise, from what she's heard of the incident in the locker room. She knew Stiles had panic attacks, and she had seen one before, but that was a while ago, and he seemed to have gotten them under control for the most part. Either that or they just happened in places where no one would then talk about it. Whichever it was, this was not normal.

Perhaps the least normal part was the way Jackson had closed up when she asked him about it, she mused as she absently turned onto a different street. It wasn't like him to pass up on the opportunity to have a laugh at the expense of someone else, especially Stiles or Scott. To say he wasn't fond of Scott was an understatement, and that applied to Stiles as well by default. She had seen Jackson go out of his way to make their lives difficult on multiple occasions, and he must have been shaken pretty badly to not take another opportunity to.

_Whatever happened_, Lydia thought, turning off the car and getting out, staring at Scott's house. _I'm going to find out soon. _

Scott looked up when he heard the knock on the door and went to open it, leaving Stiles and Derek to awkwardly stare at each other. The only connection the two of them had was through Scott, and that was tenuous at best, given the animosity that existed between Scott and Derek when one or the other of them didn't urgently require help.

The uncomfortable atmosphere didn't improve with Scott's return, as he brought with him Lydia, who was one more variable that Stiles would have very much liked to keep out of this equation, but was nonetheless necessary. To have her see him like this was humiliating beyond belief... But he needed her help.

"So," Lydia said finally. "The legal system. What do you need to know?"

Sayer looked to Stiles who, with a nod, granted him the permission he was seeking.

"We need to get Stiles out of his house. As soon has humanly possible." Upon seeing the look on Lydia's face and the question that was certainly forming in her mind, Scott put a stop to it that before it even began. "_Please_ don't ask why. Just know that it's really important, and we need him out of there _now_."

"Alright," she said, sitting down and folding her arms. "The way I see it there's two options."

Scott, Stiles, and Derek all remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Option one: you can petition for emancipation, but I don't recommend that. It's a complicated and difficult process. Moving on from that one, do you have somewhere you can stay for a long time? Possibly permanently?"

Scott answered that one, as one look at Stiles told him his friend wasn't about to.

"Yes. Right here with me and mom."

Lydia nodded slowly, thinking hard. "You're sure your mom would be on board with that?"

"Absolutely," Scott said without hesitation. "I swear sometimes she loves him more than me." That comment drew the desired response, and he smiled when he heard Stiles laugh quietly from his spot next to him. "But yeah, I know she'll be absolutely fine with it."

"Great," Lydia said. "Then the first step is getting his dad's parental rights revoked. Either that or he has to voluntarily give them up. For your sake I hope you have a damn good reason for doing this, because it's not easy to get someone's parental rights taken away."

Derek and Scott exchanged a look, the meaning of which was clear to both of them.

They were just going to have to persuade him to give Stiles up.

Unable to reconcile herself with staying away for the entire day, Melissa got off work just a couple of hours later. When she walked in, she found four people in her living room, only two of which she knew. Lydia immediately stood up, smiling politely at her and holding out her hand.

"Hello, Ms. McCall. I'm Lydia, I'm a... a friend of Scott and Stiles."

Scott got himself together and stood up too. "Yeah, this is Lydia and that's Derek, they're here to help out."

"Help out?" Melissa asked cautiously. "With what?"

"Getting Stiles out of his house. Lydia knows stuff about the legal side of things and Derek's..."

"Here for moral support," Derek put in, the lie rolling smoothly. He shot a look at Scott, who knew full well that he was there more because he was useful and intimidating.

"Have you come up with any ideas?" she asked, surprised and impressed.

"Well," Stiles said, speaking up finally. "It's either I appeal for... Uh, for emancipation, or... Or..."

"Or someone adopts him," Lydia finished for him. She was looking steadily at Melissa. "So far it looks like the only option in that department, short of the foster system, is you."

"Me?" Melissa asked, folding her arms and tilting her head to the side. "You mean us take him in?"

"It was a stupid idea," Stiles was quick to say, twisting his fingers together and looking like he was barely holding himself together. "Forget it. I mean, it was stupid to th-"

"No, I was just a little surprised." She walked over and knelt down in front of him, meeting his cautious, fearful eyes. "Whatever I have to do to make sure you are safe. I _will_ adopt you myself if that's something you want, and if it means you won't be hurt again. Is that what you want, Stiles? To stay here, with us?"

After a moment's pause, he hesitantly nodded his head once.

"Great. It's settled then. Scott, do you remember Joyce Parson?"

"That friend of yours from high school?" Scott asked.

"That's the one. She's a lawyer who deals with this kind of thing. I'm sure she'll help us." She looked from her son, to the boy she was willing to do everything she could to get out of a terrible, dangerous situation, to their two friends. With a silent yet resounding clang, the reality of what she was about to attempt settled over Melissa McCall's head. She squared her shoulders and stepped out of the room.

"Hey, Joyce. I need your help. I need to adopt my son's best friend."


End file.
